


Wasted Potential

by Galahard



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, There is no happiness, this is not a feel good story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/pseuds/Galahard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: Harry's reaction if Eggsy died instead</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Potential

After far too long he heard the last vehicle roar away, and still he stayed on the ground, waiting. It wasn’t for some time after that that he picked himself up, brushing off his suit carefully, and touched the side of his glasses to make the call.

Unfortunately it seemed as if they were down because they were actually broken, and not because any of the feed had been cut when he was presumed dead. Harry sighed already knowing he couldn’t simply call in to HQ. Valentine was a media mogul, there was no telling what he was tapped into and Harry couldn’t risk being found alive by him.

No, all he could do now was try to carefully get in touch with either their American branch, or just get back to Britain on his own. With Valentine’s Day just around the corner it wasn’t hard to see when the plan would be activated, so there was still plenty of time before he needed to get away from people.

A car was on the curb and he simply put an elbow through the front window, breaking in and hot wiring it with practiced ease before heading to the airport. 

\----------

Heathrow would be a shitty place to hide out, so he flew into Edinburgh instead and took a train at Waverly toward London on the morning of Valentine’s Day. It was difficult to say when the signal would go out, the only thing keeping him from trying to make it all the way to HQ or into London where he could properly contact Merlin, so he could only work with the assumption that they would have seen his intel and act on it. He exited the line at Sandwell & Dudley, moving away from Oldbury to get lost in relative quiet. Sure, he could probably kill anyone he came across when the time came, but he’d rather prefer not to kill anyone against his will.

He didn’t want a repeat of the church.

The next morning when he risked heading to Oldbury he could see the signs of violence, of destruction, but the streets were all but deserted. Curtains twitched, people were inside, watching, but scared.

It seemed as if the signal had came and went. He found a car where the windows were already broken in and hot wired it as well, taking off for the countryside and the Kingsman estate. It was time to report in.

\----------

He was the conquering hero returning, the confident stride that he normally used natural as he approached the house. Doubtlessly he was on the surveillance cameras, and so he wasn’t surprised to see Merlin come out and stand at the top of the stairs, looking down as he approached.

Forcing himself not to smirk a bit was a struggle, but one he managed as he took the steps quickly, approaching Merlin with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m officially putting in for a day off,” he informed the magician in lieu of a greeting as he took the final couple of steps and joined him on the platform. “Though I would like to be caught up on what I missed.”

“Harry.”

There was something in his voice that stopped him in his tracks, his grin smoothing out to something more serious. “Did I miss something? From what I saw Valentine’s attack seemed to have been taken care of.”

“No no no, it was,” Merlin admitted, but he turned toward the door leading into the building, and Harry followed his lead, walking beside him as they turned down a corridor and headed toward the east wing. “Lancelot and Eggsy were able to foil the worst of the plan, and Valentine is dead. I have the feed if you want to watch it for yourself but,” he paused in front of a door, a fairly unused room, and turned to face Harry, meeting his eyes and Harry could see pain there. Hesitation.

“There were casualties Harry.”

He knew what Merlin was saying, the words sinking into him as easily as the knife at the church, but he found himself on autopilot, turning toward the door and pushing it open.

His body was laid out in the casket, and he looked peaceful. 

It was wrong, the suit and tie on him fitting perfectly but it wasn’t him, it wasn’t the polo shirt buttoned all the way up with a jacket, hat jauntily sticking off his head at some odd angle or another.

“We didn’t realize Valentine was still armed after he fell.” Merlin’s voice cut through the silence, and there was anguish there. Such potential had been cut down in front of him, on the boy’s first mission, and Harry found himself reaching out to grip the casket’s edge, trying to steady himself so he wouldn’t collapse. “He went to check the body and,” the hoarseness of Merlin’s voice stopped, trailing off, but he’d said enough. Harry could piece it together.

For a time there was silence in the room, the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins all he could concentrate on, but Merlin didn’t leave. He knew him too well.

“What’s my next mission.”

From the speed with which Merlin answered he had known this was coming, had probably spent the past several minutes finding just the right thing for him. “There’s a gang massing in Stratford that seems to be taking advantage of the chaos. Police have lost control of the situation.” He turned, and Merlin was looking back at him. “We’ll take care of clean up, just do what you have to do.”

Free rein. Exactly what he needed.

On his way to the front door he restocked his weaponry, then he peeled out in a car belonging to Kingsman, one that could reach the types of speeds he required of it as he made his way toward London. 

It still wasn’t fast enough to outrun the guilty ache in his chest, the knowledge that he’d put a young man into the line of fire, and the fire had won. Even the bloodbath when he reached Stratford couldn’t wash the guilt away, but at least it helped dull the pain for a while as he threw himself into his work.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry you guys, but I woke up thinking about this and I think I'm still compromised from the news of Leonard Nimoy's death yesterday. I'm Galahard on tumblr if you want to yell at me there.


End file.
